Self-Love

Deb Miyake - 2008-04-06

In her book, Reflections of Love, Marianne Williamson writes:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

What a life-changing concept. As I reflected upon Marianne Williamson’s message, I had one of those “ah ha” moments. These words explained so much of why I am the way I am today – the shy, quiet person I have become. I thought I knew my greatest fear – inadequacy. I was proud of that fact, and smugly patted myself on the back for being so self-aware. But, I was sadly mistaken. I am afraid to shine. I am afraid to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous. Being powerful beyond measure is intimidating. I experienced it once, and it terrified me.

Some of you may know that I majored in music. I was a French horn player. During my freshman year of college, I was home on break and was studying with Ted Thayer, principal horn of the National Symphony in D.C. One day during my lesson, Ted received a frantic phone call from the personnel manager of the Georgetown Symphony. She told him that they were in desperate need for a substitute horn player for a concert the following day, and did he know anyone who could fill in at the last minute. Ted looked at me and asked if I was interested. Fear, anxiety, and an overwhelming excitement rose up in me. My first chance to play with a professional orchestra. I nodded, even as bile began to rise in my throat and my stomach began to do flip-flops. Then I discovered what was on the program – Stravinski’s The Rite of Spring. No easy piece. Self-doubt reared its ugly head. I told Ted that I wasn’t sure I could do it after all. I couldn’t sight read such a difficult piece on a concert. I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Ted simply smiled and assured me I would do fine. I drove up to D.C. the next day for the concert, my mind whirling. Here I was, a college freshman with little experience and average talent. What made me think I could play with the big dogs? With these thoughts running through my mind, I took my place in the horn section, said a prayer, and resigned myself to fate. Then an amazing thing happened. I started playing. I didn’t crack my first note. I was in tune. I held my own. As the piece progressed, I noticed nods of approval from the other horn players. Hey, maybe I can do this after all. My confidence grew and I began to soar. Never before had I played so well. I had matched the other players note for note, never missing an entrance, never bobbling a note. I played so far over my head, so far over my ability, that it was like I was another person. Who was this mystery person, and what did she do with the real me?

After I came down from my high, I thought about what had occurred. Who was I to think that I was good enough to perform professionally? I was just lucky. I had a good day. I wasn’t really that talented after all. I was nobody, just a student. I rationalized my future as I drove back to school. I was going to be a band director, not a performer. I couldn’t compete in that world. I wasn’t good enough. I was inadequate. That was just how it was. And, true to this quote by John Lilly, “In the province of the mind, what one believes to be true either is true, or becomes true,” my life became one series of inadequacies after another. I had caught a glimpse of what it was like to be brilliant, and it frightened me.

It wasn’t until recently that I realized that it wasn’t that I thought I was inadequate. It was because I truly was afraid to be talented. I was afraid to shine. I did not want to allow myself to reach for the stars because I didn’t think I deserved it. Why? It’s simple, really I didn’t love myself enough to think I was worthy of that dream. Growing up with an abusive father who was very successful in beating it into my head that I wasn’t good enough taught me to hate myself. Had I been able to love myself enough to follow my dream, who knows where my life would have lead? Who knows how brightly my light would have shined?

As I struggle with this internal conflict of self-love/hate, I have begun to see just how much I have limited myself. I see the opportunities I have missed, the relationships I could have made better, the love I could have given, the person I could have become. Now I am redefining myself, learning to love myself, and with that growth, I see a flicker of light. Maybe I can shine after all.

I think most of us want to be our “best selves”. We try to be good, decent people. We value love, honor, and truth. But when it comes down to really shining, we often fall short of the mark. We shine just enough to be socially acceptable. We love ourselves just enough to allow a small light to shine through. We love ourselves...adequately. We all struggle with this idea of self-love. I used to think it was just me, but I have learned that I am not alone in this, and neither are you. Whether it is due to our family background, social circles, our consumeristic culture, or other influences, at some level we all share this feeling of being afraid to be brilliant, afraid to shine. But what would happen if we truly had the courage to be brilliant and fabulous? What would it be like to seize our full potential, to love ourselves enough to be great rather than adequate? And in being great, in being courageous enough to go beyond social expectations and limitations, would we not liberate others to be free to shine too? Imagine, a world of shiny, happy people. May it be so.